


Books

by jaimistoryteller



Series: Baker Street Polyamory [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimistoryteller/pseuds/jaimistoryteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly comes up with a plan for the "date night" between her and Mycroft</p>
            </blockquote>





	Books

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Rare Pair Bingo-Word: Poem
> 
> Tumblr about my stories: [JaimiStoryTeller](http://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you for any form of communication, I love it and it keeps me writing!
> 
> Lots of thanks to Amythe3lder for all of her help with the idea

_Molly’s POV_  
It wasn’t until the sixth book of poems showed up that she noticed the pattern. They always appeared on days that were going bad, the worse the day, the older and rarer the book or the more favorite the author. That alone had told her who it was getting her the books. In the months they had belonged to the same small family and started building a relationship, he had done several things of that nature as a way to try and make things easier between them. Little gestures of affection and caring that melt her heart every time, even if he does not seem to place much value on them. They mean a lot to her, particularly when she knows it is not his strong suit. She really should do something nice for him.

After bringing up the books to John, she discovers that their introverted partner enjoys poetry too though the other doctor can not tell her what type since he just listens to his voice whenever they may discuss it, not the words that go with it. It gives her an idea that allows her to come up with a plan for their next date night.

Four days later, she sets up the "breeding room" as it is referred to, but not for sex. John and Greg help her shove the bed against the far wall. The small two person table is pulled out a bit, the chairs are changed out for the smaller armchairs for comfort, and fairy lights are hung around the ceiling and walls for mood lighting. In front of the bed they set up another table, laying out a variety of snack and finger food, along with setting up a small electric tea pot full of hot water with a variety of teas beside it. There is also a collection of dishes for them to use. Since she is not sure what type of poetry he likes, she checks with Sherlock, and then takes books based on his answers to the room.

Once all the preperations are done, she glances around the room, smiling at their progress. This is not a required sex night, that was last week, this is just a spending time together night that the blonde doctor requires. Her fellow doctor refuses to count the required sex night as a date night because it is not really an option. She agrees with that assessment, and tries using the date nights for the purpose that the blonde doctor insists on them for. So far she is perfectly content with the other doctor, the detective inspector, and the dark-haired genius. The only one she is not comfortable with is the spook, though the two of them have made great strides since starting this relationship. She would even say that they are friends, or close to it.

When Mycroft get's home that evening, she is seated in John's chair reading one of the poetry books. "Hi," she greets him with a hesitant smile, "I thought we could stay in tonight?"

He nods, blinking at her once, before waiting to see if she has something more to say.

A small part of her considers demanding a verbal response the way John or Greg would, but she decides against that. "If you want to go change into some comfortable clothes and meet me in the breeding room, that'd be appreciated." She suggests to him.

His posture automatically changes, "I will be there in ten minutes," he replies stiffly.

She blinks at his tone before realizing what he must think. "Oh no, not for sex, we've already dealt with this months requirement. There is twenty-six days until we have to deal with that again. But Sherlock said something about wanting to do an experiment in here, something to do with different types of music. Knowing him it will be loud. That room is made for quiet, so I asked John and Greg to push the bed out of the way so it is not the dominate feature of the room and help me do a bit of rearranging." She quickly exclaims and explains, hoping it calms him down. She probably could have used the study area, but it wasn't as intimate and she wanted to develop closeness, not formalness.

His body seems to relax the slightest bit, head barely moving in a nod as he murmurs, "Thank you."

She smiles, happy to see that slight relaxation, it means she was successful in reassuring him. More than that, it means he is beginning to trust her.

As he heads towards the bedroom he shares with the doctor and boffin, she stands, stretching and fetching the trays of cold foods, carrying them into the room and setting them out in the empty spaces left for them. Again, she glances about before clicking off the over head lights and turning on the fairy lights. The room glows softly, bright enough to read, not so bright to be annoying or an eyesore. The overall effect between the way everything is moved around and the decorations is a welcoming reading nook, hopefully he will like it to.

Swaying from foot to foot,  she is in the middle of debating whether she should sit down or stay standing while she waits when there is a single sharp knock at the door to the room, before it opens and he silently glides in. He seems frozen in spot as he looks around taking in the lights and everything else.

"I," he begins but stops looking around again, his gray eyes lingering on the basket full of poetry books, "Thank you," his voice is sincere, kind.

Ducking her head a bit, she sways in spot as she responds, "Thank you for the books. I've noticed they seem to appear on bad days the most and want you to know I really appreciate them. When I told John about it, he told me you like poetry to, so I thought that maybe we could read poetry to each other? Maybe discuss favorites? Share a light and easy to eat dinner?" She's annoyed with herself for sounding so hesitant.

"That sounds pleasant," he replies gently.

"Would you like some tea? I have a sampler pack," she motions to the table standing in the way of the bed.

He steps the rest of the way into the room, closing the door quietly before moving to stand beside her. Cocking his head to the side, he studies the options, selecting one for himself, just holding the packet for the moment.

Smiling, she selects her own before gently taking it from him and making the tea for both of them. His eyes say he is surprised when she sugars it exactly the way he likes before handing it to him. The two of them move over to the armchairs, settling into their respective spots and sipping at their tea for a little bit in companionable silence. He is the first to break the silence.

"Interesting selection," he murmurs as he eyes the books she set in a basket once more.

"Sherlock gave me a few suggestions, and I selected some of the others of a similar nature." She replies bashfully, happy he seems to like her choices.

He nods, standing and querying, "Would you like a refill or different flavor?"

"Refill would be great," she answers with a smile, tilting her head and watching him move. He seems so much different when he is like this wearing loose fitting pajamas of such a soft material rather than the seriousness of bespoke suits. The power and control are still there, but they are muted, as if he is ignoring them or unconcern with projecting them.

After making the teas, he turns towards her and inquires lightly, "Would you like a plate?"

"Please," she nods and smiles, happy to see him actively engaging. She had been concern that he would not, most the time in more private or intimate settings he stayed a bit stiffly formal so this was a welcome change.

He nods, tilting his head in that adorable manner he does with his nose sort of pointed upwards, and selecting several things to put onto the plates before putting both their cups and both the plates on a tray and carrying it over. Several more minutes pass in silence as they nibble at their food. Eventually he inquires after her day, for a few minutes they share small talk, until they are done eating what is on their plates.

"Any preference?" She asks, motioning to the books.

"How about the book of classics?" He suggests, reaching down and lifting an old leather bound book with light gold lettering.

She smiles, thinking about the fact some of her favorites are in there, "Wonderful."

He thumbs through it, noticing her soft bookmarks.

Opening to one of the pages, he softly stars reciting the poem, though she can tell it is from memory with the way his tongue curls over some of the words like an old friend. When he is done, he closes the book, lightly holding it out to her. It takes her a minute to comprehend because she is still processing the drawl and the warmth that seems to spread through her as she listens to his voice. Blushing, she accepts the book, but doesn't open it. Instead, her eyes drift partly shut and she speaks from her heart, feeling the words of her selected poem through her soul. Barter is a perfect poem for their situation, a hope for the future, and a blessing for the past. His attention seems riveted on her until she stops setting it aside, quite certain he knows any poem he might select by heart. His next selection makes her chuckle, particularly when she considers both of them are introverts who prefer not to talk. However it sets the mood for the rest of the evening. They take turns getting plates of snack and finger foods, making each other tea, and reciting or reading poems to each other, occasionally they discuss them.

By the time she starts yawning, they have already shared nearly five hours of pleasant company and it is nearing two in the morning.

Both of them stand at the same time, smiling hesitantly at each other before biding each other a goodnight and pleasant dreams. He offers to clean the food up much to her surprise, and sends her off to sleep since she appears dead on her feet apparently. After thanking him, and lightly touching his shoulder, she leaves to go to bed.

Just before she falls asleep she thinks, over all, it is a successful night.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the poems they read to each other:  
> [A Time to Talk by Robert Frost](http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/a-time-to-talk)  
> [ Hope is the Thing with Feathers by Emily Dickinson](http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers-by-emily-dickinson)  
> [Barter by Sara Teasdale](http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/barter-by-sara-teasdale)
> 
> Lots of thanks to NoOrdinarySouthernGirl for finding them for me, poetry is not something I really like


End file.
